Shoot to thrill
by projectskyblade
Summary: "Have you heard? He is so poor, he only has money..."


Today was a good day. That was quite impressive, for somebody like Tony Stark to think that, while he was walking, outside, next to the man he loved the most: Steve Rogers. Tony barely ever walked to a place. Why would he? He had money, he had cars and he had people who could drive him around as well. And he could always grab a cab, if he was _really_ desperate. But now he was walking, just because Steve wanted to go out for a walk. Not that Tony really understood why somebody would want that - 'Out of all things that you can do, out of _all_ things, you'd go outside for a _walk_?' - but, whatever, it was _Steve_ and, _fine_, Tony would go with him for a _walk_. And maybe, just _maybe_ - but probably not - Tony was enjoying it. Not that he'd ever admit it. Ever. But, well, the sun was _kind of_ nice and the air was _kind of _refreshing and Steve certainly was enjoying it. It was really busy, though, but Steve was a big guy and Tony was famous, so, apart from the camera's and photographers, people were giving them just enough space to walk through the streets of New York. Just enough. Tony hated walking.

Lately, life had been better. Of course, that was mainly because of Steve, because that was really the only big change that there _had_ been in Tony's life. He dragged Tony out of his workshop every once in a while - which, Tony was embarrassed to admit, was literal - so that Tony's life would be more or less like that of a normal person. Y'know, two to three decent meals a day, few hours sleep every night. Well, more or less. In the beginning, Tony kept pushing his own will, like he always did and like he'd probably always do, so he sneaked off to the workshop at night. Steve'd find him there in the morning, often while Tony ran on coffee and liquor, hyperactive, mumbling in himself, to Dummy or to Jarvis and then Steve had to carry Tony back upstairs like a small child. Which, Tony was embarrassed to admit, again, did cause Tony to behave like a little child. More than he usually did. No - no, he wasn't that bad. Not really. Little children didn't-

So then Steve decided it would be a good idea to share the bed with Tony. Y'know, he could've also let Jarvis know Tony was not allowed out of his room in certain times - like a small child! - he also could've just started with locking Tony's door - even though Tony would have absolutely _no_ trouble with breaking it open one way or the other - or he could've just, dunno, let Jarvis simply supervise him and let Steve know what Tony was doing and where he was. But _no_, without a single word, Steve just showed up in Tony's bed with that little smirk of his on his face, thinking he was _so smart_. At first, Tony rolled his eyes and just walked out of his room, but, well, it isn't that hard to figure out what happened next…

And surprisingly, it was a better solution than the others Tony had come up with. The locked door, Jarvis stalking Tony, etcetera… Suddenly, the big bed was a lot smaller. And a lot warmer. And even though Tony never, _never_ admit it, he didn't mind sharing his bed, _his_ bed, not _a_ bed, with Steve. _Steve_. _A guy_. Okay, actually, that wasn't really a big deal with Tony. Yeah, so he wasn't straight - okay, not for the full one-hundred percent. He was…like, fifty percent. Fifty percent straight, fifty percent curly. Not a big deal to Tony - why would he? Others minded more than he did, and _that_ wasn't his problem. Never was, never would be.

Tony wasn't even sure if the others knew. From S.H.I.E.L.D.. Fury probably knew, but he wasn't the person to actually give a shit. Actually, he wasn't the person to give a shit about anything except for the planet his big black ass was born on and his leather suit. Eyepatch included. Of course, Tony didn't really care if the others knew - just Steve. Did Steve know? That was something Tony _did_ care about. Although it was just another thing he would never admit. Tony wasn't really the person to admit anything, especially when it came to _feelings_. Or just…anything, really. He was right and if he was wrong, then he still was right. Big guy, tough guy - or, well, not physically big…well…he wasn't _tall_… - and no sense of emotion. Well, Tony tried. There was his will, what he wanted, what he'd chase until he'd get it or he'd die trying. And then there was _emotion_, something he even pushed away in his mind, in himself. His heart was dying and didn't tell him anything. No feelings, nothing.

So what was that sense of…peace, the first night Tony slept with Steve? Just slept. Nothing else. After Steve had dragged him to bed -…which, Tony was embarrassed to admit… - he wrapped an arm around Tony's waist to keep him there. Tony knew, then - he just knew that Steve… Well, maybe Steve didn't know Tony did curly as well, but there was something. He knew it for sure. Because no matter how friendly Steve was, how helpful he was, how kind and caring he was - he wouldn't go this far with anybody. Would he? Tony couldn't help but doubt. Because maybe, just maybe, he _did_ feel. His heart - the physical heart, the dying one, hanging on a thin line - was beating slightly faster. He felt a cold shiver run down his spine to his legs and arms whenever he was doubtful about-about Steve, then he felt Steve's warm arm around him. Would he? …go that far? Maybe it just didn't mean that much to Steve. But it did to Tony. Because this was a sign of taking care of somebody. Steve would take care of Tony. The only person that had ever tried to take care of Tony was Pepper. And she had given up.

Tony started sleeping more, he started sleeping better. Whereas he usually was taunted by nightmares unless he had completely drained himself from any sanity by staying awake as long as he possible could, he could now have a decent night's sleep. With Steve besides him, just the two of them, sleeping peacefully. Tony started eating more, eating better. Healthier. Not just shawarma, leftovers or delivered food, but they went out. If Steve didn't cook. He cooked! And he cooked well. But they went out as well. Expensive restaurants, of course. Steve would decide what they'd be eating whenever he'd cook, but if he didn't cook, then it was up to Tony _where_ they'd be eating. So Tony'd suit up like always - just the clothing suit, not the Iron Man suit, though that was definitely something Tony would do one day - and get a car ready. A car often picked by Steve. Actually, it was _the_ car, because Steve always picked the same. So one day, when Tony was sure about himself and most of all, himself towards Steve, that car became Steve's. The 1937 BMW 328 Mille Miglia.

It was a gift for Steve given after Tony had told Steve what he - damn it - _felt_. Tony had never been so direct and honest whenever it was about himself - well, not like _this_. He felt that feeling again - the shiver than ran down his spine, that spread to his legs, to his arms. He shivered. His hands clenched into fists, as he felt the coldness of doubt spread through him. Tony, Tony feeling insecure. Big, tough guy, but deep inside there still was just a human. Just a human. Tony felt the hand on top of his, before he could look up in Steve's eyes to see his reaction. The hand - _Steve's_ hand. Tony did look up, his eyes big, mouth slightly open. Heavy feeling in his chest. Then he saw Steve's smile. Eyes somewhat narrowed, wrinkles, lips curling up. His hand on Tony's. From the coldness that spread to his body, to the warm feeling that came from Steve's touch. That's what happened, that's when it started.

And this is where they were now. That had occurred a few weeks ago and Tony had found himself being more peaceful. Not only during the nights, but also during his waking hours. As he walked through New York, with Steve Rogers next to him, he felt calm. Happy. Lucky, too. He barely heard to shouting of people, of the paparazzi and whenever Tony looked up at Steve, he knew Steve felt exactly the same. That smile, that sweet smile - because Tony had no other idea how to describe it - and it made Tony smile, too. It made him happy. So what if he did curly? Tony tugged at Steve's sleeve for a moment, then stood on his toes and kissed Steve. Just like that. On the middle of the street, in the middle of New York, as paparazzi were taking a stroll behind them as well. Just because he felt like it. And it went dead silent for a moment - or did it just seem that way? - before Tony heard a loud scream.

_Click-click_. Tony slowly turned around, stepped back to see what was going on. Steve, too, had tensed up and turned around. It came from behind Steve, Tony was facing it. A man with a gun walked towards them, pointing at Steve. "I will kill every god-damn faggot in this hellhole if I have to!" he roared. Tony pulled Steve back in an instant and stood in front of Steve - fast enough for the bullet to end up in Tony, instead of Steve.

Tony never was the type to give his life for somebody else. He'd give his life, sure, but not because he wanted to save somebody else. He didn't care that much about his own life, it seemed rather empty, even though it was filled with inventions, women and cash. Somewhere, in the back of the mind, he felt that he was broke, even though he could get everything there was to buy. But he couldn't get everything there was to get… Although, that was what he believed, back then. Then Steve came along. Suddenly his life didn't seem so empty anymore, it wasn't just materialism he had. Steve…was the first person to have taken care of Tony. And he never gave up. This? This wasn't something Tony did in return. Steve may have saved Tony's life, once, twice, maybe more times, but Tony didn't feel like he _had_ to give his life for Steve.

He just did. Because it seemed like the right thing to do. Because that was the first thing that came up in Tony's mind at that moment. _Protect Steve._

Today was a good day…


End file.
